Protector (Of None)
by PrideBeforeTheFall
Summary: Mary-Alice is a witch who refuses to practice and just wants to protect her brother from the world, but living in Beacon Hills is like living in that one horror movie where everything is trying to kill you and nothing makes sense. But hey, at least no one ever thinks to check the graveyard.
1. Prologue

_Trigger Warning: there will be depections and allusions to domestic violence and child abuse. Substance abuse is also mentioned (not involving any minors). Also, anything that is from the MTV TV series, 'Teen Wolf,' by Jeff Davis, is not mine._

**Preface**

* * *

Mary-Alice lays quietly in her room, rolling a sprig of wolf's-bane between her fingertips; the thin fibers on the stem tickling softly at her skin. Her mind is what feels like miles away, lost in dreams of stardust and laughter, just how she likes it, anywhere but here in Beacon _Fucking_ Hills. But like all good things in her life, that too comes to an end; and her mind is reluctantly very much in the present, and paying attention to the screaming argument happening in her parents' bedroom just above her's.

Mary's expression twists as the sound of glass shattering echoes in the house and the hard _smack_ of skin hitting flesh reverberates in the air, over and over again, until the thud of something hitting the ground breaks the continuous staccato beat.

If she was so inclined, she imagines she'd get up and help her mother off the floor, mop the blood up, and whisper that it was going to be okay, but she wasn't– not anymore.

She rolls over and tries to ignore the sound of her mother crying.

Her eyes gaze out the window, it's a full moon tonight, a great time for rituals and supernatural beings galore; a great time get the hell out of this suffocating mansion, this mansion that feels more and more like a coffin every day. The walls closing in by the minute and the oxygen slowly being sucked out the air with every curse word and threat voiced; killing everything in the house in slow-motion.

As her fingertips trace soft purple petals, Mary listens to the front door slam closed and her step-father's car tear out of the driveway, gravel crunching beneath wrecked tires; listens as small feet pitter patter their way to her door and a small voice whispers, "Mary-Alice?"

Mary sighs, "come in, Luca," her door opens slowly and her baby brother's form slides under the covers behind her.

Taking one last, longing look out the window, she places the sprig on her nightstand and rolls over to hold her brother as the first of his sobs break through.

He's five-years-old and they're stuck in this house, with their stupid mother and fucking psychotic step-father; they're stuck until Mary-Alice turns eighteen or one of the neighbors build up some fucking nerve to call the cops (Mary-Alice doesn't hold out much hope for the second option, she'd hoped for two years, before she realized no one was coming and stopped wishing someone out there actually gave a damn.)

Her body tenses, she doesn't turn eighteen for another year.

Her grip is so tight that for a moment she's scared that it's _too_ tight, but he grabs on to her just as desperately; his nails biting into the meat of her arms. She pushes her face into his hair and tries to pretend that the wetness on her cheeks is sweat, and that the bubbling heat deep in her veins― the one that's trying its damndest to claw its way out of her chest― is just heartburn (but Mary-Alice has always been a shitty liar, even to herself, and this particular brand of flame that eats up her insides, is one of hate.)

Luca continues to shake in her arms, even in his sleep, and Mary just lays there, waiting for the sun to rise so she can get them the hell out of here, at least for the day, if nothing else.

* * *

_**AN: So, I'm a terrible, terrible, person. I kinda—sorta— started a new story (or three) on accident? **_

_**No shit, there I was, trying to brainstorm how I was going to word the next chapter of 'High Tide' while simultaneously trying to finish my journalism paper; and then suddenly, I was writing a story about Isaac Lahey dating a witch. **_

_**Because, honestly? Isaac should've been in Season 6. He deserved better than having his love interest dying and then moving to France. My guy needs all the love! Ergo, Mary-Alice. **_

_**(Plus I've been depressed lately and that's when I want to write the most. So, I don't want to taint the smudge of happiness Ash (Main character of 'High Tide') has obtained, just because I'm in the mood for angst )**_

_**I hope you still love me,**_

**_—Pride._**

**_P.S. Why is the Teen Wolf timeline so damn confusing? =[_**


	2. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended._

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

When the sun rises Mary-Alice is already awake, having stayed up watching the shadows on the wall slowly be chased away by morning light.

She pulls Luca behind her— keeping him close, keeping him _safe_— as she gets them both ready; as quickly and as quietly as possible. Luca doesn't protest, just keeps a grasp on her leg at all times.

They make good time, heading to the kitchen with fifteen minutes before her mother should be up.

Of course, it's in between buttering toast, frying eggs, and trying to pack sack-lunches– all while trying not to wake anyone, mind you– that they run out of time.

How Mary-Alice never noticed her mother make her way down the stairs and to the coffee pot, she doesn't know; but she does know that it scares the shit out of her when her mother makes her way to the dining room; following the sound of Luca watching cartoons on Mary-Alice's phone, no doubt.

Her mother, battered and broken, could've once been called beautiful; back when Mary's father was still around. When the house was always clean and the smell of pastries was heavy in the air, when the windows were all open and the radio was never off, when there were plants everywhere and her mother always wore beautiful sheer maxi dresses with her hair down and Luca _never_ cried himself to sleep; back when they were _happy_.

Because there was nothing more beautiful in a person than happiness and love.

Now, Mary-Alice thinks they're all disfigured caricatures of themselves.

Her mother no longer tanned and glowing with her dark, wavy hair; instead her skin is gaunt and hollow, too yellow and green to be anything close to glowing; her hair short and stringy, always tied back.

Her father, once happy with his crow's-feet and salt and peppered hair, green eyes and a mischievous smile; is now cold and lifeless, just as any other dead body rotting in ground.

Luca, who was so happy _all_ the time– with his curly black locks and sea-green eyes that sparkled with joy– is now sad and tired, his eyes _always_ scared and his arms covered in mottled colors of blue, black, purple, and green.

—And then there's her, Mary-Alice.

The girl who flits through life like a ghost, pale and worn. She who sleeps little, if she gets any at all, and yet feels like she never has enough time. She who has magic that bubbles beneath her skin, and yet does nothing with it. Mary-Alice who can't protect a damn thing, not even her brother's laughter.

Mary's head shoots up at the solid sound of skin slapping flesh– the sound of Luca's laughter cutting off abruptly— and she can't help the jolt of panic when all she can see is her mother's back in front of Luca.

She hurries to pull the pan off the stove and shut off the flame. "

You're being too loud, Lucas." Her mother mutters, and when Mary comes around the island to get to dining room, she sees her mother's hand clapped over his mouth and Luca's wide, watery eyes staring up at their mother's battered face, terrified.

Mary leans forward– to do what, she doesn't know. Maybe to let Luca know she didn't leave him alone– and rests a hand on the back of her mother's shoulder; her mother flinches back like Mary punched her (or more like her husband Mark did), but at least she removes her hand from Luca.

A tired smile flits across her mother's face and when she leans forward to give Mary a kiss on the cheek, Mary jerks away, face blank. Her mother's face hardens as something ugly glints in her eyes and her hand lashes out to grab Mary-Alice's jaw; pulling her close, she presses her lips harshly to the dark bruise marring Mary's cheekbone. "Good morning," she says forcefully, her head barely two inches away from Mary's; before she releases Mary's face to walk back up the stairs, coffee cup in hand.

"Shit," Mary sighs and releases the breath she didn't know she was holding, she got lucky today, but she knows her luck won't hold out forever. And looking at Luca's red face— a shape of a hand beginning to take form over his mouth— she knows neither will her brother's.

Small hands grasping at her t-shirt make her look down, locking eyes with Luca, Mary steps closer so he can wrap his arms around her waist. She bends down and presses her lips to his head, her hands coming up to hold him and card her fingers through his hair. This is what she needs to focus on, what she needs to _protect_. (She ignores the small voice in head that whispers, _'you can't even protect him from your own mother, how are you going to protect him from the world?')_ Not, the bitterness trying to force its way up her throat.

Mary-Alice swallows it down, "Luca, baby," she whispers, "we gotta eat so we can leave before Mark comes home." Luca stiffens in her arms before slowly letting her go. She reluctantly removes her arms and heads back to the kitchen.

She places eggs and toast in two separate bowls, large heaping piles of food to fill them both. When she turns around to head back to the table, she almost trips over her brother's form standing not even half-a-foot away. Mary says nothing, just skirts around him and places the food on the table.

She puts the bowls on each side of the table so that they can face each other as they eat. She sits down on her side and starts shoveling food in her mouth, watching the clock hanging on the wall. Mark usually comes home shitfaced drunk, so she'd rather they hurry and get the hell ou–

Mary-Alice pauses, her spoon half way to her mouth when the chair next to her slides out; turning her head, she watches as Luca pushes his bowl on the table next to her and shimmies his way onto the dining chair. He doesn't look at her as he scoots his way closer to her side and grabs his spoon and starts eating.

Mary-Alice hides her smile in the next bite of food she takes. The time passes in companionable silence as they eat.

When they finish, Mary-Alice hurries to do the dishes and get their packed lunches together in the portable cooler. They make it out the door and into Mary's midnight-blue range rover in record time, pulling out of the long, winding driveway just as Mark is pulling up in his shitty mini-cooper.

The minute they're out and on the streets of Beacon Hills, Mary-Alice rolls down the windows and blasts the radio. Her arm hangs out the window, feeling the cool morning air swirl through her fingers; and she bobs her head along to the beat and the sound of her brother's laughter drifting in the wind.

It's when the song changes that her eyes dart up to meet Luca's in the rearview, and when they catch eyes— matching grins spread across both their faces— they both begin to belt out the lyrics to Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You.'

Just like they used to when Dad was alive.

* * *

_**AN: I'm sick.**_

_**I'm that terrible, yucky, gross, disgusting in everyway, kind of sick. The type of sick where you might as well just be a useless sack of goo laying in the corner; coughing and spluttering every ten seconds.**_

_**I hate that kind of sick.**_

_**Hope the rest of you are healthy this year.**_

_**Wishing for some tylenol,**_

_**—Pride.**_


	3. Chapter Two

**_Trigger Warning: there will be depictions and allusions to domestic violence and child abuse. Substance abuse is also mentioned (not involving any minors). Also, anything that is from the MTV TV series, 'Teen Wolf,' by Jeff Davis, is not mine._**

* * *

Mary-Alice slowly turns into the parking lot of the Beacon Hills Cemetery, feeling all the tension float away in the cold spring air

It's like the minute she got them away from everything, all their worries melted away; after all, who would look for them in a graveyard?

Not Mark, that's for sure.

Mary knows she should be doing her homework right now and not dragging her kid brother with her to their father's grave, but that's precisely what she does, and she refuses to be ashamed of it. As far as Mary-Alice is concerned, she'd rather spend the last day of her spring break with her brother and dead father, (And isn't that a morbid thought?) then out partying with her fellow sophomores.

Holding his tiny hand in hers and carrying the cooler in the other, large blanket thrown over her shoulder, Mary and Luca make their way between rows and rows of polished stone and granite alike. Until they find their fathers near a large oak on top of a small hill; it's on this hill that Mary sets up their picnic.

Luca drifts over to their father's resting site, and Mary-Alice continues to lay out the picnic. She sets out three plates and a few electric candles. She doles out cut fruit, peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches, and red grape juice.

Luca comes back and watches as she pulls out their father's picture and a cypress bowl to hold the small bundle of Mullein she placed inside. She's discreet as she burns the plant, her mouth coming close to the end and blowing, a whisper of flame catching on the dried herb. Mary quickly smothers it in the bowl, leaving only smoke to float around them. She was running short on herbs and supplies, but if she was steadfast in her beliefs and listened to the stars as the ancestors before her once did, it would work as it was supposed to, even without all the ingredients; for her magic was in her blood and not in the tools she uses.

(After all, she was a Stellar, and all Stellar's follow the way of the stars. The sky may have been lit with sunlight, but few of those who practice realize, that _too_ is a star, and her family has always been more of a celestial oriented line than one of those that follow deities.)

So, she sits with her brother and her father's slap-dash altar in a circle —hands interlocked and fingertips against picture frame edges— and they share stories and happy memories.

Because, while she'll never see him again, physically in the very least, he's still here, willing to listen as long as the stars will it, and the sun shines upon their little family. Even after the smoke dissipates and Luca and her bid farewell, she knows he got the message.

The proof is in the playful wind that tugs at her coat and tussles Luca's hair; in the empty cup of grape juice and missing pieces of fruit on his plate, in the smiley-face poked into his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

The smiles and laughter, the affection, and playful shoves come easier after that.

* * *

It's when she's watching Luca run between the gravestones, dropping yellow rose petals from his hands and onto the ground behind him; that she notices something _odd_ in the air.

Mary-Alice follows sedately behind, and for every yellow petal she passes, the petals turn back into the dead leaves they once were before Luca worked his magic. It wouldn't do to have flower petals all over the graveyard when they haven't even bloomed yet, not this early in spring when a chill still lingers in the air.

She wraps her arms around herself, trying to keep her body warm. It's a few hours past noon, so the sun should still be shining with warmth— or at least it would have been, if not for that one stubborn cloud blocking it out (she tries not to think of the bad omen that alludes to). She slows down, even more when another _odd_ tingle makes its way up her spine. Mary freezes, before continuing on: her gaze surreptitiously sweeping the area trying to trace the origin.

The sound of a machine roaring makes her jump, a gravedigger is across the cemetery, a small mop of blonde in the driver's seat.

Isaac Lahey.

Her brows furrow and she hesitates before walking closer, not close enough to lose sight of Luca, but close enough to satiate her growing curiosity. Mary barely knows enough of Isaac to fill a thimble, but there's something around him she can't identify, her ability with auras and divination is not the strongest; however, she knows enough to know that fate has a hand in this; a hand in Isaac glowing like muted moonlight.

Her spine continues to tingle the closer to him she gets; in fact, it only increases in intensity with every step forward.

A small tug startles her out of her confusion, and she can't help the flinch that racks her form before she can repress it.

"Sorry," Luca mumbles, and Mary hates herself a little more at the look of guilt that sweeps across his features. She smiles at him in apology, self-loathing burrowing deeper in her heart when he smiles back hesitantly, his eyes still sad. His arms come up slowly– as though he was careful not to startle her again– hands open and waiting.

Mary picks him up, and Luca rests his head against her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck like a cat before following her gaze, "Who's that?" he whispers, and Mary moves closer to the subject of their attention, unconsciously.

"That's Isaac Lahey, his family runs the cemetery," she whispers back just as quiet; Mary doesn't really know why they're so quiet, but Luca never does anything without a purpose, even if he doesn't understand the reason behind most of his actions.

Luca hums before tilting his head to peek closer at the gravedigger, his eyes most likely picking up things her own talents are unable to, "He's important," he states finally, and Mary stiffens. She shifts Luca in her grasp, holding him closer when the wind blows their way.

"How so?"

Luca has always been better with precognition and divination – the little she's been able to teach him – than her own measly attempts at the art forms. Mary's skills lying closer to defense and spell creation, not that she does much of it anymore; her mind too eager to come up with curses instead of charms, too full of bitterness and hate that if she were to practice now, she wouldn't be sure she'd be able to stop herself from hurting someone– from hurting their parents.

And hurting someone without magical blood always came with a price– a price Mary can't afford to meet when she has someone relying on her the way her brother does.

Luca grasps her hoodie in his tiny hand– holding on like he knows her mind is leading her somewhere dark– and lays his head back on her shoulder, gaze still watching Isaac Lahey. Luca's face scrunches up in a comical display of concentration, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, and Mary hides her smile in his hair, resentment subsiding once more.

She lets him stare for as long as he wants, even as the sun slowly descends from its place in the sky. They follow Isaac with their eyes as he moves on to dig another grave and then, with their feet, when he moves far enough away that Luca begins squirming in an attempt to trail after him.

Mary's mildly surprised that Luca is this focused on a stranger– but not entirely as he has always been fascinated with the astral plane and his abilities. His gifts that only grow in strength the lower the sun sets, and the higher the moon rises.

It's a few hours later when Luca stiffens in her arms, becoming as rigid as a board, and Mary grows alarmed as her skin begins to itch as magic rushes over it, setting an urgency in her bones that she didn't believe came from her, "Mary-Alice, I wanna leave," he whimpers and begins to tug frantically on her shirt, his wide eyes still locked on Isaac.

Before she has the chance to wrap her head around the sudden change in his demeanor, the sound of a truck pulling into the graveyard triggers his panic even more, and the heavy air of his magic presses even further down on them. Small whines escape his throat, sounding a few seconds away from full out bawling if she doesn't get them out of there; Mary swallows, her eyes still locked on Isaac's.

Isaac, who's staring at them in confusion and concern.

Mary moves her gaze slowly to the road and then back to his eyes, his gaze follows the trail her's made, and his body freezes like a small animal in front of a predator when he takes in the sight of an old, beat up, blue truck coming closer.

It all takes only a few seconds for the exchange to happen before Mary is moving away from Isaac and his frozen form; her last glance is of him panicking the closer the truck gets, his arms operating the machine faster, and Mary hopes that he finishes the grave before whoever is in that truck gets out. She has a feeling that it won't be good for him if he doesn't.

Mary hurries and makes her way between graves and over clumps of dead leaves until she comes to where they had held the remembrance ceremony for their father. The picnic is already packed away into the cooler, and the blanket is folded on top, so all she had to do is pick it up.

The abrupt, all-consuming, dread-inducing sound of a car door slamming closed echoes like a gunshot across the graveyard and suddenly Mary can understand Luca's panic; for her heart drops and dread floods her system, something was wrong.

Something _bad_, and Mary didn't want Luca to be here anymore than she did.

She barely gets him buckled into his car-seat when Luca flinches violently and shoves his face in the blanket Mary placed on his lap, his shoulders shaking. She chews her lip in worry, but closes the door and hurries to her seat anyway. The farther away they get from the graveyard, the better it'll be.

Something was going to happen, she's aware of that much, and she didn't want Luca to be here when it did.

The car starts and the headlights flash, shining just enough light for her to see Mr. Lahey– the current swim coach at Beacon Hills High and Isaac's father– pull his son from his seat in the digger, violently throwing him to the ground with his fist raised, a bottle dangling from the other. Isaac cowers on the ground in an all too familiar way and Mr. Lahey throws the bottle on the ground next to his face.

Mary swallows back her frustrated tears and the hate that burns through her veins and does _nothing_, nothing but turn the headlights off; her hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers begin to ache, and the leather starts to creak.

Luca sobs in the back as she puts the car in reverse a moment later, and for the first time since her father died, Mary finds herself muttering a spell under her breath as they drive away.

_"Wrap thee in cotton,_  
_bind thee with care,_  
_protection from pain,_  
_let there be no fear,_  
_brightest of blessings,_  
_surround thee tonight,_  
_healing sent in flight,_  
_for the stars are with thee,_  
_under this moonlight."_

Her gaze darts up to the waning gibbous swimming in the sky, and she hopes it was enough. The amethyst around her neck glows softly the whole way home, and as the weight of guilt and regret weighs heavy on her mind, she wishes she dragged Isaac with her.

But Luca comes first, no matter the price against her conscience.

* * *

The altered healing chant, I have found, is cited on a lot of different websites and I wasn't sure which to cite as my source, so I am using the website I came across first. [ Chants ] A Waning Gibbous is the lunar phase that comes before the Full Moon.

I altered, or should I say Mary-Alice, the wording of the spell to suit her needs and capabilities. The original chant reads as:

"Wrap thee in cotton,  
Bind thee with love,  
Protection from pain,  
Surrounds like a glove,  
Brightest of blessings,  
Surround thee this night,  
For thou art cared for  
Healing thoughts sent in flight."

_P.S, If anyone has any knowledge of holidays that Mary-Alice would participate in being a witch, I would really appreciate if you commented any small tidbits about traditions and things like that._


	4. Chapter Three

_**Trigger Warning:** there will be depections and allusions to domestic violence and child abuse. Substance abuse is also mentioned (not involving any minors). Also, anything that is from the MTV TV series, 'Teen Wolf,' by Jeff Davis, is not mine._

* * *

**_Nantaniele Ribiero is what I imagine Mary-Alice to look like._**

* * *

Luca is quiet the next morning as they get ready, but that's okay, Mary is too. He says his first word of the day when she's dropping him off at kindergarten. "Mary-Alice?" he whispers as they stop a few feet away from his classroom door.

He looks down at the ground, lip quivering, "Do you think Isaac is okay?" Mary swallows, she'd been trying not to think about it. Her necklace stopped glowing sometime around midnight, four hours after she had cast the spell.

So, either he was dead or he was no longer in danger and in need of healing, there was no in between. Mary hesitates, and considers lying, but looking down at his downtrodden expression, she knows he wouldn't accept anything but the truth.

She sighs and tries to ignore the twinge her ribs give as she crouches down, hoping he'll look her in the eye, "I don't know, Luca," Mary admits and feels her heartbreak at the sight of his eyes filling with tears. She surges forth and draws him into a hug, "I don't know, but I'll find out," she whispers her promise into his hair.

She holds him until the bell goes off, signaling the start of class, as he lets go Mary rubs the tears and snot off his face with her bulky sweater-sleeve, uncaring if she has to go to class with snotty snail-trails on her arms.

Mary hold his face in her palms and looks him in the eyes, her hazel-green meeting his sea-foam orbs. "Whatever happens, it's not _your_ fault," she says forcefully, hoping that this isn't something that will hang over him for the rest of his life. Empathetic imprints like the one Luca felt yesterday – Mary as well, to a smaller extent – have a way of lingering around those who can sense them.

"W-we could've stayed a-a-and–"

Mary pulls him in for another hug and whispers in his ear as she holds his head against her shoulder, carding her fingers through his hair, "No, Luca, we couldn't." Mary sucks in a quiet breath when he starts to protest, and admits, "I can barely stand being around the boys at school without flinching, I wouldn't be able to even function if I had to be face-to-face with someone so similar to Mark without freaking out," her breath catches and Luca's arms tighten around her, his objections dying in his throat.

Mary takes a moment to hide her wince in his hair, her ribs throbbing from under where his arms are wound tight around her, "I'd do exactly what Isaac did, curl up in a ball and hope he stopped, Isaac wouldn't want anyone to get hit for him anymore than me or you would." Mary pulls back to look at his blotchy face, "It's not your fault, okay? You're five-years-old, no one expects you to fight grownup problems."

Luca sniffs one last time and nods his head before trotting into class, shoulders slumped and his small Spiderman backpack drooping behind him. Mary watches him go and scrubs her face with a weary hand before getting up from her crouched position, body aching like a giant bruise.

Her own warning bell should be ringing soon and she still has to hop the fence that borders the two schools, and walk across the lacrosse field to get to homeroom for check-in. She starts her journey to the five-foot fence in question, and with one last, resigned grimace, she hauls herself over it.

The bandages bound around her ribcage tighten, constricting her lung capacity and she wheezes in pain as she finally topples over to the other side. Mary blinks up at the sky, flat on her back from where she fell; she takes this moment, and tries to remember how to breathe again.

Fucking stairs and fucking Mark, making her life more difficult than it needs to be.

* * *

"Excuse me," Mary mutters as she squeezes past a couple trying their hardest suck each other's faces off in front of homeroom.

Fucking freshmen.

When she finally makes it in the door, she immediately looks for Isaac, she needs to make sure he's okay; needs to make sure so that Luca will know he's okay. Her gaze darts over the seated students.

Hazel-green meet watery-blue in her next pass over the seats and Mary's heart thuds in her chest, the glow around him is more visible now, but he looks relatively unharmed. She drops her gaze, and feels his eyes burn holes through her as she slides into the seat next to him.

The minute her body lands in her chair she's already regretting it. Isaac's eyes are still on her, and when she looks at him, they lock eyes once again, "I'm sorry," Mary whispers and his eyes cloud over in confusion.

"For what?" Mary just shakes her head and turns away to stare at the board, waiting for roll call so she can get the hell out of here. The teacher comes in a few moments later to take attendance and Mary can feel Isaac's eyes on her the whole time.

"Mary-Alice Stellar?"

"Here."

Especially when her name is called.

"…Stilinski?"

"Present, sadly."

But roll call continues without much fanfare and when the teacher finally dismisses them Mary forgets– in her haste to get away from her growing guilt and Isaac's seeking gaze– the frantic rush that happens after dismissal. Teens swarm like flies to honey, hurrying to get to the door and enjoy their last five minutes of freedom before school truly begins and the lacrosse team heads to practice.

Mary who was just sliding out of her seat, gets knocked into Isaac, who coincidentally was also standing.

It's when tears are forming in her eyes after some asshole dug his elbow into her still cracked ribcage, that she becomes aware of two things:

One, her chest _fucking_ hurts.

Mary can literally feel her ribcage shift under her skin and the suffocating sensation of her lungs not being able to expand normally. Mary sucks in a quiet breath and tries not to whimper too loudly.

Two, Isaac isn't human.

His head snaps down to look at her when she does, indeed, wheeze against his chest and Mary knows that it was too quiet for anyone to hear in the crowd. His hands land on her arms, keeping her upright and out of the way of oncoming traffic when she almost doubles over from the pain. Plus, most damming of all, when they lock eyes, his turn _gold_.

Beta gold.

_Werewolf_ gold.


End file.
